


Stay

by YouKnowNothinJonSno



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bullying, Coma, Fluff and Angst, High School, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 14,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouKnowNothinJonSno/pseuds/YouKnowNothinJonSno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard has bullied Frank for years throughout high school, but when Frank is in real danger, will Gerard save him?  Even if he does, will Frank ever forgive him for the past?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Woman

**The Woman's POV**

_It is another day. And I don’t know how I go on. Maybe today I won’t. Or maybe that day is tomorrow, the day I won’t go on anymore. One day I will have to stop; one day, I will have to not go on. And that is how I manage, knowing that today could be the end. One would say I live to die. I live each day hoping it will be my last._

_Some would say that’s not living. But I’m not dead either so then what am I? Is it possible to be something in between? Not alive, but not dead either? Then perhaps I am somewhere betwixt life and death, an anomaly. I do not feel alive. Yet a true death evades me._

_Or is that me, evading a true death? I don’t know. Who knows? No one._

_This partial life goes on._

◊ ◊ ◊

_I wake up. The sky is powder blue. I’ve slept in again. Late for everything. Always late. Alarm clocks never rouse me._

_I roll over to see the clock; it reads 9:47AM. The alarm symbol doesn’t flash, and it takes me a moment to remember I turned it off before I went to sleep late last night—or early this morning. That’s right. I was fired. I managed to get fired from a roadside convenience store. Impressive. I guess stealing merchandise was not part of the job description. Damned security cameras. My ex-boss had kindly but sternly explained to me that snagging a pack of gum once in a while he would let slide, but whole meals was pushing it too far._

_I mean, damn. I thought I was being sneaky about the gum. The bowl of chicken and rice obviously was not sly—in fact, it was self-sabotage. Yes, I admit it, I did this to myself. I don’t know why. Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Sometimes I have to hurt myself._

◊ ◊ ◊

_Today, I wake up to someone next to me. He snores. It’s not my bed. We’re naked. The darkness of the sky outside tells me it’s too early to be waking up, and though I’m tired, I can’t sleep._

_He says nothing when he wakes midmorning, though he sees my eyes are open. He just dresses and leaves. When I finally get up, I find he’s generously made me scrambled eggs for breakfast. They aren’t well-cooked, but I eat them anyway. There is a note by the eggs, which he must’ve scribbled in a hurry before rushing off to work: “Come back anytime.”_

_I consider this; I consider the eggs. “Tonight,” I write underneath, then tentatively add, “dinner first.” I scurry off then, memorizing his address._

◊ ◊ ◊

_It’s been a while since I was kicked out of my flat after I was fired and could no longer pay the rent. Luckily, I’ve fallen onto an unexpected gold mine. Ray, in an attempt to silently communicate that our relationship is not romantic, pays me for my “services.” It’s not a lot, but he’s fairly rich, and it easily gets me through the day._

_I’m not a whore, not really. It’s just the one guy, and it’s convenient._

_Or am I?_

◊ ◊ ◊

_Sometimes, Ray eats dinner with me. I don’t particularly enjoy the company, because it’s just a long, awkward silence and only sound is chewing. We don’t go out to eat—that would be too much like dating._

_I say it to break the silence—no, I’m just self-sabotaging as always. “I love you.” I say it as casually as one might say “pass the salt” or “could I have more bread?”, not even a “please” tacked onto the end._

_He puts his fork down and wipes his mouth, not meeting my eyes. I continue to devour my last meal. With a clear of his throat, he says the unbelievable: “I’ve been developing similar feelings toward you.”_

_I manage not to choke on my noodles in surprise._

_“I’m sorry,” he fumbles, grabbing my hand. “Were you joking? I’m not good at jokes.”_

_“I wasn’t joking,” I mumble._

_He squeezes my hand, oblivious to my lies._

_What have I gotten myself into?_

◊ ◊ ◊

_The damage done is irreparable. He doesn’t pay me anymore, but I live with him. Eat his food. Pretend I love him. I’m not even grateful, though I know I should be. I never_ was _grateful. I never am._

_Never._

_Nor do I ever feel guilt, or joy. Am I a psychopath, then? But I do feel sadness. Does that count? Or am I wrong about that? Is it really sadness, or just numbness that I interpret as sadness? How would I know? If I am a psychopath, how could I compare what I feel to actual emotions? Is there a way to tell?_

_There must be._

_I have to find a way._

◊ ◊ ◊

_I know. I know how to tell._

◊ ◊ ◊  
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊  
◊ **Frank’s POV** ◊  
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊  
◊ ◊ ◊

The last school bell of the day rings and releases me from my stiff seat. I shove my books into my bag as fast as humanly possible and rush for the door…just as everyone _else_ rushes for the door. I’m jostled to the back of the crowd, as per usual. Before I can wedge my body through the exit, I hear the teacher call me back.

And I’m out, nearly jogging towards my locker. I surprise myself by making it without human interaction. I sigh in relief. Another responsibility avoided. Another angry teacher. As I’m grabbing my books out though, the inevitable occurs. My face jerks forward into the metal locker, and the books I’m holding tumble to the floor. My nose barely complains—it’s so used to this treatment.

“Hey, Frank _Queero_!” that familiar voice jeers. My lifelong bully, Gerard Way, is extremely homophobic and, unfortunately, very attractive. I will admit that despite his bullying, I’ve had the slightest crush on him for years. How typical. The loser junior secretly crushing on the popular senior.

“It’s Iero,” I growl, trying to seem tough. I don’t know why I bother; it doesn’t help anyway.

“What’s that, Queero? You trying to ask me out?” Gerard guffaws.

I manage to shove past them, beet red, leaving them in laughter. My books are still on the floor where I abandoned them. More homework lost. My teachers are going to hate me even more than they already do.

Outside, students mill about, waiting for busses and rides, friends and lovers. I walk alone, friendless and loveless, relying on my own two feet to carry me home.

I spot a young woman surveying the crowd with concentration about twenty yards ahead of me. She could almost be a student, but for the air about her that screams sophisticated adult. Her face is skeptical and thoughtful as she searches. I only realize I’m staring when her eyes meet mine, at which point I drop my head and ignore her gaze.

As I push forward through the throng of students, I notice a pair of converse shoes walking towards me, and when I look up, it’s the young woman again. Her cold, curious eyes search mine for a moment, before I’m distracted by a familiar voice not far away. Gerard Way is walking parallel to me on my left. Eager to escape both undesirable companions, I swerve to my right and attempt to continue on, but the woman blocks me with a hand.

“I should be sorry,” are the odd words she utters, “but I’m really not.”

And suddenly, there is a knife pressed to the skin of my throat and the woman’s hand is clasping the back of my neck.


	2. The Girl

For a moment, I’m frozen, but then I jam my elbow back as hard as I can. She grunts, but her hold doesn’t loosen; instead, she presses the blade closer, until a few trickles of blood are released.

“Don’t struggle,” she warns remorselessly, “or I’ll slit your throat.”

My eyes flit about anxiously for rescue, and fall upon my favorite bully. Gerard, as if sensing my glance, turns to see me, the smirk falling from his lips as he takes in my wide eyes and fearful disposition. Just as the gravity of my predicament dawns on him, an ear-piercing scream rings out from somewhere beside me—someone else has seen me too.

The crowd takes several long seconds to realize what is going on before everyone start running and shouting in fear. Gerard is the only still bystander—he seems frozen in shock. Then, he clears the surprise from his face. I half-expect him to start urging on the attacker, but he begins to slink around behind the woman, disguised by the uproarious crowd. I can’t fathom what he is doing, how he is going to _help_ kill me, and I throw him a sort of desperate, pleading look before he averts his eyes from my face to fix them on my captor.

A voice in my ear: “Stay back!” The threat is palpable; it doesn’t need saying. I wildly try to see where she is looking— _is it Gerard? Let it be Gerard! If they fight over who gets to kill me, I’ll live longer!_ —but a teenage girl is the culprit who stops a few yard before me. Her nervous eyes flicker relentlessly between me and my captor.

“Please,” the girl says timidly, holding up her hands.

My attacker is silent.

The girl continues, “Please let him go. He’s just a kid. A nice kid. Don’t hurt him.”

I wonder if I’ve met her before, but I don’t recall her being in any of my classes. Maybe she’s an actor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she knew me well.

“What are you, his girlfriend?” the woman growls mockingly.

The girl blushes and shakes her head. By now, the crowd has finally dispersed and quieted to tense whispers on the fringes of the school grounds. Only Gerard and this random teenage girl are anywhere near me and my attacker. Even the few teachers I can see stand back grimly.

I lose sight of Gerard and my limbs start shaking in fear. He is going to kill me and that’s all I can think. I’m more afraid of him right now than I am of the stranger with a knife held to my throat. It’s hard to tell if this fear is irrational or not. But right now, he’s the biggest threat. This woman might show mercy, but Gerard never does. I wriggle desperately in the woman’s arms, but she’s surprisingly strong. The blade draws a few more drops of blood, but she spares no more words for me.

“If you don’t want to stain your clothes, you might want to back away now,” she warns the girl.

But the girl doesn’t waver. “He doesn’t deserve to die,” she insists.

I don’t know if I imagine the faint footstep behind us or not, but I can’t take the risk. “Behind you!” I hiss urgently to the woman holding me. She gives me a disbelieving look, and after a moment, the girl turns around in confusion before facing us again. She’s very convincing—she doesn’t let herself look at Gerard once. She must think she’s helping me.

“He’s behind you!” I try again, straining my neck to get a view of my captor.

After another incredulous look from both present parties, the stranger growls, “Shut up!” and sets her sights back onto the flustered girl who returns to her reasoning tactic.

“Do you have a brother? A sister? Who do you love?” she asks.

The stranger is quiet for a moment before she starts to laugh, a harsh, rickety sound, not humorous at all. The girl pales, and I can’t repress a shiver. “Don’t you get it?” the woman sneers. “I’m a psychopath! I don’t love anyone!” The knife shifts as she grips it tighter and I flinch as it stings. “And now, I’m going to prove it.”

I hear three things at once: a gasp from the girl; a heavy footfall from behind— _Gerard!_ ; and a grunt from the woman as she drags the knife across my throat.

My neck is on fire. I can feel, on top of the pain, the horrible wrong feeling of having a gap in my skin, two pieces of flesh that are longing to reunite but can’t. Wet, sticky, hot blood stains my skin and clothes. _This is a new shirt._

The blade is gone after only a partial slash, not finishing the kill. A girl I don’t know—oh! the one who tried to help me—leans over me, frantically flailing her hands, not knowing what to do. I realize I’m lying on the ground; I must’ve fallen. My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Another face looms over me, and I’m horrified to recognize Gerard. His face is harsh—not mocking, _murderous_ —and his hands wrap around my throat and press down. He’s strangling me; I can’t breathe. He’s yelling something, but the last insults he throws at me are drowned out by a ringing in my ears. My vision goes black before anyone can save me. As if anyone would bother to save me….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think in the comments!


	3. The Bully

An annoying beeping sound wakes me up. I feel exhausted, like I’ve been asleep too long. My eyes blink open to bright afternoon light and it takes them a few moment to adjust. I’m in a hospital room, with butterflies on the walls. Lethargically, I look around, and I see someone slumped in a chair on my right, obviously deep in sleep. Upon closer inspection, I realize why he looks so familiar, and I jolt upright and try to scoot away as the beeping picks up speed. Worried the obnoxious sound will rouse him, I reach to get the pulse monitor off my finger, but a hand stops me. At first, I panic, thinking it’s Gerard, but that’s ridiculous because I’m still looking at him, and both his hands are dangling limp over the sides of his chair. Following the arm to its source, I meet the eyes of that brave teenage girl who had tried to talk me out of death. But my heartbeat doesn’t slow, because Gerard is still here.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the girl croons. “My name is Jamia. You’re safe now.”

I urgently grab her arm and hiss, “Why is _he_ here? He tried to kill me!”

She looks surprised and confused. “Gerard?”

I nod vigorously.

She smiles, still puzzled. “No…he saved your life. If not for him, you’d be dead.”

“No,” I deny, uncomprehending, “he—he strangled me, and I blacked out.”

Jamia cringes slightly at the memory. “He stopped your neck wound from bleeding out. That was after he tackled that horrible woman to the ground and knocked her out. So in a way, he saved your life twice,” she tells me matter-of-factly.

“No—but—I—” I struggle.

Her face softens in sympathy. “I know he bullied you, Frank, but he visits you every day, and for the first two weeks he wouldn’t even leave your side except to use the bathroom. He rode in the ambulance with you—as did I. He sleeps here most nights. He’s been really freaked out, you know. Keeps asking the doctors if you’re going to be okay.”

I am flabbergasted. “ _Gerard_? Was w-worried? About _me_?”

“Yes,” Jamia confirms.

I stare between her and Gerard in disbelief for a few seconds. “That does not sound like the Gerard I know,” I finally state doubtfully.

“You’re right,” Jamia agrees, “it is way out of character, but it’s still true. That’s still what happened.” Her tone gets defensive.

“I’m not saying you’re lying,” I backtrack swiftly, “just that it’s vastly unbelievable.”

She gives me a disapproving look. “That’s the same thing,” she snaps.

I shrug, but I don’t really care if I hurt her feelings or not. I watch Gerard warily, but since he’s asleep, I feel rather creepy. He looks distressed in unconsciousness. I start to doubt whether he’s really asleep anymore.

I’m about to make my escape when suddenly questions crowd my mind. “What time is it? How long have I been here? What happened after I passed out? When can I leave? And who are you, anyway? What were you thinking, trying to reason with that psychopath? And, my god, I have the strongest craving for chocolate pudding right now.”

At that final statement, I see Gerard’s lips quirk upwards at the corners. Before I can call him out on it though—or rather, work up the _courage_ to call him out on it—Jamia answers.

“Here’s the thing, Frank,” she reluctantly admits. “You’ve been in a coma for nearly six months.”

A long, silent moment passes before I say blankly, “Right.” Not sarcastically, not in agreement, just simply acknowledging that she spoke.

She observes me anxiously. “Frank?” Her voice sounds panicked. That’s when I notice how fast and shallow my breathing is and that the heart monitor is beeping like crazy. “Help!” she cries; her voice is muted. Gerard’s face blocks out Jamia’s, hovering over me. _I can’t breathe._

Suddenly, strangers in scrubs flood the room and push Gerard away from me, herding him out the door.

_Yes, I’m safe now_. Sleep overtakes me.

* * *

When I wake again, it’s just my mom beside me. Relieved, I slowly try to sit up, but I feel too weak to move. Upon seeing I’m awake, my mom pushes my struggling shoulders back into the pillows.

“You’re going to be very weak for a while, Frankie,” she tells me smoothly. “It’s been a long time since you’ve used your muscles. The doctors say you’ll need to gradually build up your strength.

I stare at her, at the tear hanging on the edge of her eyelashes. “Mom” is all I can manage, and she bursts into sobs, hugging me until I’m gasping for air.

“It’s okay!” we both start crooning to each other. After what feels like forever, we pull apart, sniffling.

“I…” my mom sniffs. “I thought you wouldn’t ever wake up. It’s been so long, I….” My mom lets out a large sob. I squeeze her hand. “I almost gave up on you,” she cries. “The doctors were urging me to pull the plug….” My blood goes cold at this thought. They almost killed me. “If it wasn’t for Gerard…” she goes on.

My eyes widen and I jerk up straight. “What do you mean by that? What’s Gerard got to do with it?” A terrifying thought occurs to me. “Did he try to pull the plug on me?”

My mother looks shocked. “Pull the—no. He’s the reason I waited. It’s expensive, you know, keeping a coma patient alive. Insurance doesn’t cover it after a while. But Gerard, he got another job, not bad pay either, and he gave all his money to you, to keep you alive. And well, in the grand scale of things, it didn’t help that much monetarily, but it was his determination that gave me hope. Otherwise I might’ve….” She throws her hand over her mouth in renewed horror over what she almost did.

“It’s okay, mom,” I say distractedly, mulling over this new information about my former nemesis. “I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you like it or not so far!


	4. The Mother

_**Almost 6 Months Ago:** _

_Gerard drove up to the Iero residence with trepidation. His heart was pounding in his ears as he got out of his car, almost forgetting to shut the driver’s door behind him. The walkway tot he front door seemed long and daunting. He made the journey, trekking up to the porch, and, after a moment’s hesitation, rang the doorbell._

_“Coming,” said a muted voice from inside. The door opened after a few anticipatory seconds to reveal a frazzled woman in disheveled clothing with red, puffy eyes and a look of exhaustion on her withered face. “Oh!” she exclaimed at the sight of him. “Oh, dear goodness, it’s you!” She looked flustered and fervent, clutching the doorframe for support._

_“Mrs. Iero,” Gerard said timidly, “may I come in?”_

_“Oh, my, yes, of course you may. Please,” she gushed, stepping aside so he could enter. She shut the door after he cautiously stepped inside. The house was messy and cluttered. Several casseroles crowded the kitchen counter in mismatched glassware, all covered with saran wrap or tin foil, giving the impression that they were gifts from worried neighbors._

_“Are you thirsty, Gerard? Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?” Mrs. Iero asked politely, but even as she went to open the fridge, her hands were trembling._

_“I don’t need anything, Mrs.,” Gerard replied promptly. With a nervous breath, he added, “You know my name.”_

_Mrs. Iero turned to face him. Her smile was strained from stress. “Of course I know who you are,” she said gently. Gerard held his breath, waiting for the her to yell at him like he deserved for being so cruel to her son all these years. But instead, her eyes teared up, and she continued, “You’re the one who saved Frankie’s life. I don’t know how to repay you.” She swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to cry. She looked stubborn, despite her fragile state, and he admired that in her._ Just like Frank himself.

_Gerard ran a hand through his hair uncomfortably. He didn’t deserve this praise, but he couldn’t say he wanted to be hated by her either. Cautiously, he ventured, “Did Frank ever mention me before?”_

_Mrs. Iero frowned slightly. “I’m afraid not,” she admitted apologetically, “but he didn’t talk about his friends to me. Were you two close?”_

_Gerard swallowed, guilt washing over him in waves. The right thing to do would be to tell her the truth. “Sort of,” he hedged. He couldn’t make himself admit to anything else._

_She smiled at him again, still strained but genuine. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”_

_Gerard felt sick._

* * *

Through the window, Gerard watches as Frank and Mrs. Iero comfort each other, wishing he could be the one giving Frank comfort. It feels wrong, after being Frank’s near-constant companion for half a year, to be denied access to that room. He misses sitting at Frank’s bedside, telling him stupid jokes and stories, holding his limp hand and pleading with Frank to wake up. And now that he has woken, Frank wants nothing to do with him.

Gerard feels lost. He takes another sip of the cheap hospital coffee, hoping it will energize him enough to get him out of his slump. But the coffee just taste bitter and plasticky, burning his throat as he swallows.

“You look like someone shot your puppy,” a voice says from beside him, and Gerard turns to see Jamia standing there, holding a much more appetizing Starbucks caramel latte. She plops down in the adjacent chair and offers Gerard a sip.

“I don’t have a puppy,” Gerard mutters back, taking the proffered latte. It tastes so good he doesn’t want to give it back, but he reluctantly does. Jamia sips primly from it.

“Clearly not anymore,” she replies. “So, who shot it?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. Jamia always came up with the strangest analogies. “Frank, of course,” he says lightly, trying not to stutter over the name.

“Of course,” Jamia says with an eye roll of her own. “I thought you would’ve been happy that he woke up at last.”

“No, I am!” Gerard interjects hurriedly. “Of course I am! I just…I just miss him, is all.”

Jamia smirks back at him and he sighs at her childish behavior. “He’ll get over it,” she states confidently, but Gerard gives her a doubtful look.

“I bullied him for two years,” he reminds her grimly. “If I were him, I wouldn’t be so forgiving.”

Jamia bumps him with her shoulder teasingly. “Good thing you’re not him, then.”

“What do you mean by that?” Gerard gripes back.

Jamia just smiles big at him and Gerard has to grin back a little because her smile is infectious. “He’s a good guy. So are you. He’ll realize that sooner rather than later.”

Gerard shakes his head in bewilderment at her assessment because as a _bully_ he’s pretty sure he qualifies as a bad guy, but there’s no arguing with Jamia once she has an opinion.

“And don’t you dare disagree,” she adds as if she’s read his mind.

Gerard raises his hands in surrender, one still clutching the rapidly cooling hospital coffee, and says placatingly, “I wouldn’t think of it.” As he lowers his arms, both of them smiling amicably, Gerard decides that even if Frank never forgives him, he’s lucky to have made a friend like Jamia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really appreciate feedback!


	5. The Patient

“You’ll need to do these exercises three times a day, for at least five minutes each time,” the doctor is telling me.

I nod dutifully, even though I’m sweating already from the minor exertion. I wasn’t necessarily in the best shape before, but apparently being in a coma for six months really does a number on your muscles. My calves start to feel numb, even though I’ve only been doing leg raises for about a minute.

“And here is a form for your meals. Just select your meal of choice from the three options and give it to your nurse.”

“Thanks,” I say, grimacing at the thought of hospital cuisine.

“Wow, Frank, is it leg day?” a voice says from the doorway, and I glance over to see Jamia leaning on the doorframe, smirking at my sweaty face.

“Every day is leg day,” I reply, trying not to look too winded. The doctor is watching my progress so I don’t dare to take a break, even though my thighs burn like the fires of Mordor.

“All that exercise must make you hungry,” she hedges, and I notice she has one of her hands behind her back.

“Please tell me you brought food,” I pant.

Jamia grins and reveals a paper bag with the Taco Bell logo on the front. “Surprise!”

“I love you,” I inform her, and maybe that’s a weird thing to say to someone you’ve just met, but it feels like we’ve known each other forever, and she just sticks her tongue out in response.

“Excellent work, Frank,” Dr. Carlton tells me. “You can relax now. Remember to do that again this evening.”

I gratefully put my legs down. They feel like rubber. “Sure thing,” I reply wearily, and the doctor leaves with her clipboard. Jamia sets the bag on my lap, and I eagerly open it and start devouring the burrito with abandon. “Thanks for this,” I tell her earnestly with my mouth full.

Jamia’s grin turns into a small smirk as she watches me eat. Just as I’m taking the last bite, she says, “Gerard got it for you.”

I choke just a little bit, coughing before I finish swallowing the food down. My wide eyes turn on her. “Were you trying to trick me?” I ask incredulously.

“I just wanted to make sure you ate it. Wasn’t sure how you’d react.” She sits on the bed next to me. “So, should I tell him you said thanks?”

“No!” I exclaim, before reining myself in. “No need for that.” I try to sound casual, but Jamia sees right through me.

“Are you ever gonna give him a chance?” she challenges, and I gape at her.

“He terrorized me for two years, Jamia!” I protest.

“I know,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He wasn’t very nice to me either.”

My brow furrows. “Really? But, aren’t you guys friends now?”

“Yes, we are,” she responds, not explaining further. “You weren’t all that nice to me either, I’ll have you know. Yet here I am.”

I panic for a moment, trying to remember ever meeting her before. “What? I was never mean to you! I never met you!”

Jamia glares at me, but she doesn’t seem particularly angry. “We were in the same art class, Frank. I always tried to talk to you, but you ignored me.”

Cowering under her glare, and unable to recall her in the slightest, I squeak out, “Sorry?”

Jamia grins again, back to her usual cheerful self. “I forgive you,” she says easily, grabbing the empty bag and starting to leave. “You should try it sometime.”

* * *

“No, Jamia,” I hiss, trying to intimidate her into obeying.

“He won’t even enter the room,” she goes on mercilessly. It’s nearly sunset now, and the light peers in through the blinds to hit my eyes no matter where I shift. “He’ll just stand in the doorway. And I can stay in the room with you if you’re gonna be such a baby about it.”

“Jamia, I said no,” I grunt.

She ignores the desperation in my voice. “It’s happening whether you like it or not, Frank. Need I remind you that he _saved your life_?”

I groan and close my eyes for a second, before facing her and relenting, “I don’t have anything to say to him.”

Jamia grins brilliantly. “Not even anything bad to say? I call that progress.”

“What are you, my shrink?” I grumble, but she isn’t amused.

“Do you want me to stay in the room with you or not?”

I do my best impression of a puppy. “Please stay.”

She sits on the bed primly, and looks out the window to the hallway. “Here he comes,” she warns me, and I take a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated! :)


	6. The Coward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's POV

“Hi,” Gerard says awkwardly, standing in the doorway. Frank is sitting tensely in bed, propped up with pillows, and Jamia sits next to him, looking tranquil. Gerard wonders if Frank actually agreed to see him like Jamia claimed.

Frank fails to reply, so after a moment Jamia does. “Hi, Gerard, how was your day?”

Gerard watches Frank, watches how the boy flinches at Gerard’s name and how his fists clench the sheets subconsciously. “Fine,” he says shortly, beginning to regret this meeting.

There’s another long silence where Gerard tries to pick out every detail about Frank—the way his hair falls to the left, the tension in his shoulders, his ragged nails—and Frank avoids looking directly at him.

Jamia sighs irritably after a while of this, and stands abruptly. “Well, maybe I should go so you two can catch up,” she snaps, starting to leave. Frank’s hand shoots out to grab her arm. He doesn’t say anything, probably because Gerard is right there, but his eyes look scared and pleading and the moment Jamia looks at him she relents. “Fine, but talk,” she murmurs to him as she sits again.

Frank bites his lip hard, and Gerard wants to tell him to stop it because he’s hurting himself, but Gerard knows better than to say this aloud. “You got me lunch,” Frank says finally, voice barely audible from where Gerard stands in the doorway.

Gerard nods, so that Frank has to look at him before glancing away hurriedly. “Did you like it?” Gerard asks, feeling out of place.

Frank shrugs noncommittally, still looking away. “He loved it,” Jamia states blandly, and Frank throws her a glare, which she raises her eyebrows at.

Gerard looks between them, trying to decipher their silent language. “That’s good,” he says at last.

Jamia looks like she’s biting her lip to stop from berating them for being so awkward. Instead she offers smoothly, “Do you want to sit down?” She points to the chair just inside the door.

Gerard is about to take her up on this offer when Frank says loudly, “No!” Jamia turns to glare at him, but Frank just repeats, “No,” and he’s finally meeting Gerard’s eyes, so Gerard quickly says, rocking back on his heels, “I didn’t want to sit down anyway.” It’s a lie and they all know it, but none of them say anything. Frank is still staring at him and it makes Gerard both pleased and uncomfortable.

Jamia looks like she’s about to explode when Frank finally speaks, his voice hard. “You put me in here once. Why is this time any different?”

Jamia frowns in confusion, glancing at Frank, but he’s still looking at Gerard. Gerard, for his part, feels dread pooling like ice in the pit of his stomach. “That…I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Gerard tries, knowing his excuses mean nothing.

Frank arches an eyebrow. “You didn’t mean for that to happen,” he repeats blankly. “What exactly _did_ you mean to happen?” he continues acidly, and Gerard can’t look away from his fiery gaze. “What else could possibly be the end goal of beating someone up? To _help_ them?”

Gerard swallows a lump in his throat. “I…” he tries again, but what can he say, really? _It was a mistake_? _It won’t happen again_? _I’m sorry_? Those hold no meaning, and Gerard knows it. He did a terrible thing, and he has to live with it.

“You…?” Frank prompts angrily, but Gerard can’t speak. “That’s all you have to say? After you bruised my ribs and broke my arm with your little gang of friends?”

Gerard feels himself shaking. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, because he can’t seem to talk any louder.

“You _broke_ his _arm_?” Jamia suddenly cuts in, her voice even sharper than Frank’s. Both Gerard and Frank look at her in surprise, not having noticed her cold fury before now. Her eyes are fixed on Gerard, her usual cheerfulness nowhere to be found. “I thought you just teased him, maybe pushed him around a little,” she goes on, her voice almost a growl as she glares daggers at him. She begins to stand, and Gerard cowers in the doorway, unsure what to do. “But you put him in the _hospital_?” She stalks toward him slowly like a predator, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I thought he was overreacting this whole time. But he’s right to be afraid of you.”

Gerard can’t meet her eyes anymore and he looks down at his shoes, swallowing thickly.

“What the hell is your problem, Gerard?” she asks him, sounding genuinely curious, and for some reason this hits him hard. Gerard takes a small step back. “You had me thinking you were all misunderstood, but really you’re just a pathetic, bullying coward.” She grabs the edge of the door tightly, and her voice is so low and murderous, Gerard wishes she was yelling. “ _Get. Out_ ,” she snarls, and with that she slams the door in his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback always appreciated! Updates to come soon!


	7. The Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's POV

I can’t believe Jamia just kicked him out. I thought they were close.

She turns to me after slamming the door and her anger drains away into apologies. “Frank, I’m so sorry, I had no idea—”

“Why did you do that?” I interrupt her, gesturing towards the door.

“Frank, I thought he was just mean like he was to me, or anyone else—”

“Jamia, why did you tell him to leave?” I rephrase, because she isn’t understanding my meaning.

She furrows her eyebrows, looking puzzled. “He wasn’t who I thought he was,” she says uncertainly.

I huff in frustration. “He didn’t break _your_ arm!” I shout, and I don’t know why I’m shouting but I feel angry.

After a stunned silence, Jamia’s face softens in what seems to be understanding. She approaches the bed swiftly, sitting and taking my hands in her own. “He never treated me that badly,” she says gently. “I’m not mad at him for being mean to _me_. I’m mad because he hurt my friend, and no one hurts the people I care about.” She tilts her head to the side. “You’re my friend, Frank.”

My anger fizzles away as this sinks in, and I try not to let anything show in my eyes, because for some reason her admission embarrasses me. “I thought you and he were friends,” I mutter, looking down at our hands.

Jamia smiles and it pulls my eyes back to her face. “We are,” she says simply. “But not until he makes it up to you.”

I smile back finally, eyes getting watery just from gratefulness. “Thanks, Jamia,” I tell her earnestly, still clasping her hands in my own. I let go before I can think about how she’s the only person who has ever stood up for me before, and try to change the subject. “What did he do to you anyway?”

“He made fun of my art and the fact that my mom works three jobs to keep us off the streets,” Jamia says casually, picking at her nails.

My eyes go wide as I take this in. “God, Jamia, I’m sorry,” I say, at a loss.

“It’s fine,” she says lightly, and steers the conversation away from herself. “I just thought he did that to everyone. Like, I’ve never seen him do more than mock people—he never actually hurts anyone. That’s why I was so surprised to hear what he did to you. He didn’t treat anyone else like that.”

I raise my eyebrows at her doubtfully. “Are you saying I’m special?”

Jamia gives me a stern look. “I’m saying—look, Frank. I don’t know how you haven’t noticed this, but Gerard pays a lot of attention to you. Always has.”

“Yeah,” I snap, “I was a great target at school.”

“Yeah,” Jamia retaliates, “and now he buys you food, and visits you every day, and won’t stop talking about you—”

“He _talks_ about me?” I repeat disbelievingly.

Jamia smirks as she stands. “Get some rest, kid. You need to figure this one out on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short--hopefully the next one will be longer!


	8. The Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's POV

I’m doing my afternoon leg lifts the next day when I hear a knock on the door. Jamia always barges in without knocking so it must be a nurse. Or Gerard. I tense and put my legs down. “Yeah?” I call, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Hey Frank, can I come in?” a male voice responds politely, but I sigh in relief because it’s not Gerard.

“Sure,” I say to the nurse.

The blonde teenager with glasses who opens the door is definitely not one of the staff, unless he’s the resident Doogie Howser, but even then he’s wearing ripped jeans and an Iron Maiden t-shirt rather than the usual nurse’s garb so I doubt it. He gives me a wary grin and steps into the room to drop a bag of Taco Bell on my lap. I raise my eyebrows. “Um, thanks?” I tell him awkwardly.

“Gerard had me bring this in for you,” he informs me cheekily.

I stiffen at the mention of Gerard. “What are you, his steward?” I say, realizing as I say it that I’ve completely mislabelled the position of steward.

The boy gives me a weird look but is kind enough not to mention my slip-up. “No, I’m his _brother_ ,” he contradicts, semi-condescendingly.

My mouth falls open just a little. “Gerard has a brother?” It seems like every conversation I have just incurs more questions about the black-haired bully.

“Yeah,” he says, like this should have been obvious, “me. I’m Mikey.”

“Hi,” I reply uncertainly, looking him up and down, trying to spot the similarities between him and Gerard. Mikey is far more gangly. He looks like the farthest thing from a bully, and I’m having a hard time reconciling their relation.

“So, uh,” Mikey begins haltingly, glancing around the room, “sorry, but Gerard wanted me to make sure you’re okay and that you’re eating, so, I guess, I’ll just…wait.” His eyes land on the chair by the door and he immediately slumps into it.

“He wants you to watch me eat?” I repeat incredulously. My emotions begin warring between furious and flattered. _I’m definitely just furious._

Mikey shrugs, picking at his nails and avoiding my inquisitive gaze. “Yup,” he confirms, popping the ‘p’.

_Maybe it’s poisoned, and he sent his brother to make sure the job gets done._ But that sounds ridiculous even to me after all the times now that Gerard has _stopped_ me from dying, so I just open the bag grumpily and pull out a couple of tacos.

When I unwrap the first one, the aroma of cheap Mexican food fills the hospital room and my mouth starts to water. Just as I’m about to take my first bite, Mikey’s stomach growls loudly, and I roll my eyes as he pretends to be fascinated by his left hand. “Here,” I grumble, tossing the second taco at him and smirking when he startles and almost drops it.

Mikey smiles impishly. “Thanks. Uh, please don’t tell Gerard.”

I snort, because that implies I’ll ever even talk to Gerard. “I’ll take it to my grave,” I vow solemnly.

“And after that?” Mikey presses, just as serious.

Trying not to grin too widely—because this is _Gerard’s brother_ after all—I tell him, “Sorry, can’t make any promises then.”

Mikey nods approvingly, suppressing his own smile, and commends, “Good answer.”

I do laugh now, as we both enjoy our tacos, and I let my guard down so much that by the time we finish eating, I chuckle, “Man, you’re not nearly as bad as your brother.”

Mikey, who has been laughing too, sobers immediately. _Shit, I shouldn’t have said that._

He stands and gathers the trash, looking thoughtful. I’m about to take it back when he speaks. “I wanted to thank you about that actually.”

“You _what_?” _Maybe he’s not as sane as I thought._

Mikey shrugs, still standing. “Yeah, I mean, you helped him a lot.” I gape at him so he continues, “Maybe not on purpose, but before he saved you from that woman he was kind of a shit-head, you know?” I nod emphatically because I do know. “Even to his friends, even to me. But I think you gave him the courage he needed to be himself.” Mikey runs a hand through his hair and glances at the door, lowering his voice as if he expects someone to burst in at any moment. “Look, it’s not my place to tell you all his secrets, but let’s just say that the reason he was so distant and angry was because he was afraid to let people know who he really was, and for some reason, seeing you in that much danger really changed his perspective. You know, he just needed a little help to see that it was better to let people in.”

I narrow my eyes at this eerily familiar line of dialogue and the way Mikey keeps raising his eyebrows like that’s a hint. Mikey continues to look at me as if his explanation was subtle.

“So he’s gay, right?” I surmise, and Mikey nearly does a backflip he’s so startled.

“What?” he splutters unconvincingly, “I didn’t—I did _not_ say that—nothing I said was that. Why would you think that anything I just said had any sort of thing to do with that topic? I never said those words—I said nothing like it to you ever—”

“Jeez, calm down, Mikey,” I tell him, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “He’s a textbook closet case, I get it. Whatever. He still treated me like shit, okay? That doesn’t get him off the hook.”

Mikey takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff. “You took that well, I guess,” he mumbles, looking pained.

I roll my eyes at his apparent distress, because now I’m starting to get really angry. “Why don’t you tell your brother,” I growl, “to stop buying me food and checking up on me, because I’m _sick_ of his attention. I didn’t want it in school, and I don’t want it now. And, you know what?” I add, my volume rising until I’m shouting. “You can tell Gerard to shove his sorry excuses up his ass because being gay doesn’t give him a free pass to be an asshole! You don’t see _me_ going around making everyone’s lives miserable just because I like boys—”

I cut myself off abruptly as I realize what I’ve admitted. Mikey looks a little bit terrified and a little bit smug. “I’ll go tell him then,” he mutters, and backs out of the room as I sit there speechless.

_Did I just come out to Gerard’s brother?_

I groan as I think about Gerard finding out his years of speculation were on-point. _And I haven’t even told my mom yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, that's a bit longer :) Thanks for the comments and kudos!


	9. The Confidant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's POV

Gerard is tapping his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel when Mikey finally emerges from the hospital, smirking as he slides into the passenger seat of the Trans Am. Even though there is nothing Gerard wants to do more than go in and see Frank for himself, he swiftly pulls out of the parking lot and starts driving them home.

“Well?” Gerard prompts when Mikey doesn’t give him an update right away.

Mikey is still smirking annoyingly. “He’s funny,” he says.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I know that. But how is he doing?”

Mikey sighs exaggeratedly. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”  
“Mikey,” Gerard groans, “I swear to god if you don’t tell me this instant—”

“He’s _fine_ , Gee,” Mikey interrupts. “Bit of a temper, though. But really, you should go talk to him yourself. It’s not gonna get better if he never has to see you.”

Gerard barely refrains from punching the steering wheel. “I’m trying to respect his space! Everyone’s being so pushy! Am I the only one listening to what Frank wants?”

Mikey crosses his arms like he’s been offended. “Maybe you’re the only one stupid enough to not realize what Frank actually wants,” he counters scornfully.

Gerard glances at his brother in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Just trust me,” Mikey sighs. “Don’t give up on him yet.”

Gerard mulls this over, trying to figure out what Mikey is implying. After a few minutes of reflection, Gerard asks, “Did he, uh, say anything about me?”

Mikey resumes smirking. “He wanted me to give you a message.”

Gerard nearly swerves into car in the next lane but steadies himself. “Oh?” he replies casually. “And what would that be?”

“Well, first off he wants you to stop bringing food and checking up on him,” Mikey reports, but before Gerard can sag in his seat Mikey adds, “but that’s total bullshit because he was really into that taco. And he seemed like he needed the company. Secondly, he suggested a specific place you could shove your excuses, if you catch my meaning. And then he said your being gay wasn’t an excuse—”

This time Gerard did swerve into the next lane but luckily there were no cars beside him and the red car behind him merely honked. By the time Gerard is back in his lane, Mikey is speaking again.

“I didn’t tell him, Gee, I swear!” Mikey insists hurriedly. “He just guessed.”

“How the hell could he have guessed that?” Gerard growls.

“Well,” Mikey drawls, and the smirk is back. “Because he’s gay too.”

* * *

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jamia whispers as they sip coffees at Starbucks. Before Gerard can nod, she goes on, “You’re being stupid.”

“Oh,” Gerard replies, rolling his eyes. “How so?”

“Well, in many ways,” she clarifies, “but especially when it comes to a certain hospital patient.”

Gerard drinks his latte again, not gracing her with a reply.

“Stop avoiding him, Gee,” she advises.

“Honestly, Jamia,” Gerard sighs tiredly, “he doesn’t want to see me.”

“Yes he does, don’t be stupid,” Jamia responds flippantly.

Gerard gives her an incredulous look. “Have you listened to anything he’s said about me, ever?”

“Well, I’m still mad at you,” she tells him matter-of-factly.

Gerard blinks at the sudden topic change. “I’m sorry,” he tries, but Jamia reaches over and hits his shoulder hard. “Ow!” he complains, “I said I’m sorry!”

Jamia gives him a disapproving look. “You need to apologize to Frank, not me. Then I’ll consider forgiving you.”

Gerard sighs. “I think he’d prefer if I just disappeared from his life.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Jamia retorts angrily. “And if you would just go talk to him on your own you might just figure that out.”

“He hates me, Jamia,” Gerard responds bitterly. “He hates me. As he should.”

Jamia makes a visible effort to deescalate and reaches over to rest her hand on top of his. “Trust me, Gee. Just because you can’t forgive yourself yet, doesn’t mean he can’t forgive you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback! I really appreciate it :)


	10. The Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's POV, then switches to Gerard's POV later on

Look, there’s a reason I’m lying on the floor of my hospital room like an idiot.

I wasn’t supposed to be walking on my own for at least another day, according to my doctor, but I’d be damned if I had to call the night nurse in to help me use the bathroom again. It’s not really night—closer to morning—but it’s barely dawn and I knew for a fact that the nurses would be dozing in their office, waiting for the morning shift to take over at 6am. There was no need to disturb them.

I made it to the bathroom with a lot of effort, but by the time I washed my hands and turned to look back on what remained of my journey, I felt drained. The few steps back to my bed seemed like miles. I started edging along the wall, embarrassingly out of breath already, and I made it to the foot of the bed before my legs gave out and I slumped to the floor. So much for my attempt at sneaking around.

“Fuck,” I say blandly. When the nurses do their rounds, they will find me on the floor, looking pathetic as I lean uncomfortably against the bed rails. I hope at least that it’s not the cute Mexican guy that finds me. But with my luck it probably will be.

There’s a tentative knock on the door before it slides open and I have woefully underestimated my bad luck because now I _wish_ it was the cute nurse. Instead, Gerard-fucking-Way’s head peaks in. When he catches sight of me on the floor, he flings the sliding door open and rushes to my side.

“Fuck,” I say again because swearing seems like the only good option right now.

“Frank!” Gerard yelps. “What happened? Are you okay? Did you fall? Are you hurt? Should I get a nurse—”

“I’m fine,” I grunt, interrupting his frantic questions. I try to regain some dignity by struggling to get to my feet.

“Let me help you,” Gerard says and before I can respond with “Hell no,” Gerard takes my arm with one hand and his other arm snakes around my waist, pulling my up. Like the graceful human being that I am, Gerard’s touch makes me flail in alarm and I lose my balance yet again, slipping back to floor. Unfortunately this time, it seems Gerard is determined to “save” me by softening the fall, because I end up half on top of him with his arms wrapped protectively around my shoulders and head.

There’s a moment of stillness as we take in our compromising position. Then I shove myself away from him and lean against the bed again, glaring. “I don’t need your help,” I snarl at him as he slowly sits up and rubs at the back of his head. Maybe he hit it when we fell. I hope so.

“Kinda looks like you do,” Gerard replies infuriatingly.

“Well, I don’t,” I snap back like a mature two-year-old, and resume my struggle to stand.

“Let me help you,” he repeats, but this time he waits for a response.

“No. Thank you,” I growl. I pull myself up to my knees, and with another burst of effort, I manage to get on my feet. Only to be hit by the most dizziness I’ve ever experienced in my life. And of course, the next thing I know, Gerard’s arms are around me, holding me upright. “That was a no,” I mutter but my mouth feels like it’s floating above my eyes and I can’t do anything but clutch at Gerard’s shirt.

“Let’s just get you back in bed,” a voice whispers in my ear.

Once I’m sitting, my vision clears and the dizziness fades away, but I’d rather not be completely lucid in a room with Gerard Way, so I keep my eyes halfway closed. My hands are still clutching Gerard. He tries to push my shoulders back into the pillows, but I resist him and say, “Sitting is good.”

He stops pushing.

It’s quiet for too long so I add, “Sit with me.”

He doesn’t move, so I tug at his arm, and he finally sits next to me on the bed, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Something about his caution puts me at ease, and I must be really dizzy still and really tired and generally ill because I scoot closer and lean my head on his shoulder. I can hear him struggle to remain breathing steadily.

I’m not telling Jamia about this. She will never let it go.

It isn’t until I feel myself drifting off to sleep that I wonder why he’s here so early in the morning anyway.

_**◊ GERARD’S POV ◊** _

“Not another fucking dime, do you hear me?” he bellows. “I won’t have you spending any more of my fucking money on that loser kid!”

Gerard clenches his fists around the tips from his Papa John’s delivery job. “It’s my money,” Gerard grounds out at his dad. “Not yours. I can spend it how I like.”

His father raises his eyebrows almost comically. “Oh,” he mocks, “It’s your money, is it? Remind me again, do you live in my house? Do you eat the food I provide? Do I pay for your fucking education?”

Gerard works his jaw, trying to stay calm. “Those are things you’re supposed to do. That doesn’t mean you can take the money I earn.”

His dad barks out a laugh like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Oh okay, well if that’s what a parent is supposed to do for their kid, why are you paying for that freak’s medical? Huh? Why isn’t his damn mother doing that for him?”

“She’s a single mom,” Gerard growls, and he can feels his short nails scraping the skin on his palms. “She’s doing the best she can.”

“Yeah?” his dad goes on. “Well, I guess her best just isn’t good enough.”

“Don’t ever fucking say that about her!” Gerard bursts out. “She’s a better parent than you ever were!”

Gerard doesn’t see the fist coming until he’s already clutching the left side of his throbbing jaw.

“Get out,” his father growls in low voice. “Sleep on the fucking streets. See how you like it.”

Gerard doesn’t have to be told twice. As he slams the front door closed behind him, he counts it as a win that he’s still clutching his cash in his pocket. It’s the wee hours of the morning, and even though he promised he wouldn’t, Gerard can think of no other place to go that feels safe.

And as Frank falls asleep on Gerard’s shoulder, he wonders if maybe Jamia was right. Maybe Frank doesn’t hate him after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! Sorry this took so long--I was out of the country for a couple weeks--but now I'm back! Enjoy!


	11. The Repenter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's POV

“Did you know you should eat a mango everyday? They’re super good for you in just about every way. Mango is basically the king of fruit.”

“That’s great, Jamia,” I tell her, rolling my eyes, “but I hate mangoes.” Jamia won’t stop lecturing me about mangoes today. She apparently has decided I’ll only heal properly if I eat enough of them.

“That’s stupid. Mangoes are delicious.” She shoves the mango smoothie at me again.

“Please stop,” I sigh, pushing her hand away. “I’m really worn out.”

It’s Jamia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Is that code for ‘I’m really anxious about Gerard sitting outside my hospital room all day’?”

I throw up my arms; she hasn’t let me alone about it since she got here this morning, and it’s mid-afternoon now. “Could we please just pretend he’s not here?”

Jamia takes a sip of the smoothie, apparently resigned to the fact that I won’t drink it. “So you decided, ‘Hey, what a comfortable shoulder-pillow; I think I’ll just fall asleep here’ and then when you wake up, he’s already politely excused himself to give you space and you decide to blame him— _again_ —because you regret your own lapse in judgement. Very mature and reasonable.”

“Could _you_ stop with the judgement, please?” I retort in annoyance. “I’m not blaming him—I just—he shouldn’t have been there so early—why was he even there—that’s weird, Jamia!” I splutter coherently.

She raises an eyebrow. “So you think his timing needs work,” she says flatly.

“No—I mean—” I sigh exasperatedly. “I just—am feeling awkward. Right now.” I bite my lip, glancing away. “I don’t know…what to say to him anymore.”

Jamia grins suddenly, and I’m immediately wary. “So you were planning on something to say to him before?” she inquires with amusement.

I groan dramatically. “How do you always manage to twist my words around?”

“Well,” Jamia chirps, standing with her smoothie in hand, “I’m inviting him in.”

I sit upright abruptly, accidentally hitting myself in the face. “Wait!” I hiss like this will stop her. Jamia, the awful witch of a person I call my friend, strides to the door and flings it open with the glee of a demented serial killer.

“Oh, Gerard,” she calls evilly out the door. “Frank would like to speak with you.”

I pull my best betrayed face, but Jamia doesn’t even look back at me before she saunters off, slurping her mango smoothie. A moment later, Gerard shuffles into view, looking questioningly into the room. I quickly avert my gaze to stare avidly out the window at the fascinating view of an adjacent brick building, and curse the blood that rushes to my cheeks.

“Hey.” Gerard’s hesitant voice breaks the silence.

I don’t respond. Obviously.

Gerard clears his throat. “So,” he says after the longest pause ever. “You wanted to talk?”

The bricks of the other building are annoyingly uneven. Whoever laid them was a terrible construction worker. Bricks are supposed to match up in every other row, but these bricks form crooked lines all the way down—

“Frank?” Gerard ventures anxiously.

—all the way down the building. Well, at least the portion of the building visible through the window. Maybe the rest of it is very even and this is the only section that’s crooked. Maybe this part of the building was the last to be finished and the deadline was coming up so they had to hurry—

Gerard sighs. “I can leave, if you’d prefer that.” He hesitates for a brief moment before adding, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why are you so damn”—I burst out in frustration, turning to face him at last—“ _pleasant_?”

He stands barely inside the doorway, looking bewildered at my question.

“Why can’t you just be an asshole again?” I go on loudly. “Just, call me stupid names and trip me in the hallway, and tell everyone I’m a loser! Can’t you just do that?”

Gerard stares at me in apparent alarm for a few seconds before saying timidly, “Well, I can’t trip you, Frank. You’re kind of stuck in bed.”

I laugh in surprise which I immediately stop doing because Gerard isn’t funny and even if he was I still hate him. He smiles slightly, encouraged by my reaction, so I glare until his smile goes away.

Gerard runs a hand through his hair uncomfortably. “Look, Frank, I don’t want to…do those things anymore. I wish—” he looks down at his feet and it’s almost adorable but it really isn’t—“I could take it all back. I regret it so much, it aches. In my chest. When I think about it. Everything I’ve done to you….” He looks back up at me through his lashes and his eyes are wet. “I want to say how sorry I am. But I can’t. It’s not enough.” His voice wavers a bit.

“Don’t cry,” I warn, but it sounds slightly comforting, so I amend, “Don’t you fucking cry,” which is better.

Gerard swallows and nods, looking at his shoes again. His hands are in his pockets and he looks like the saddest puppy in the world.

It makes me fucking hate puppies.

“Hello, I hope I’m not interrupting?” a man in his twenties whom I’ve never seen before says as he enters the room. He’s obviously a doctor, from his white lab coat and professional attire, which he affirms by continuing, “My name is Dr. Ross, I’m filling in for Dr. Carlton. You’re Frank Iero, is that right?”

“It’s Frank _Queero_ , actually,” I retort bitterly and then I freeze, not quite believing what I just said.

Gerard nearly chokes. Dr. Ross looks between us in confusion. “I-is that really your name?” he asks uncertainly. “Uh, the forms said ‘Iero’—I can correct those if they’re wrong—”

“No need, it’s Iero.” I glare up at Gerard as he addresses the doctor because I didn’t give him permission to speak. “He’s just joking.”

“Oh,” Dr. Ross says in relief just as I say, “Joking, am I?” Gerard winces, not looking my way. Dr. Ross looks uncomfortable again, his gaze flitting between us. “Am I joking, Gerard? Were _you_? Was it just a _joke_?”

Gerard glances at me before averting his eyes again. “I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, of course not,” I agree bitterly. “Of course you didn’t mean anything by it, because you’re perfect now, aren’t you? It must be nice for you to be the hero. Were you interviewed a lot?—I never asked. Are you the local hero now? Should I worship you like everyone else?”

Gerard’s jaw clenches.

“You know, how ‘bout I stop by later?” Dr. Ross offers, backing out of the room hastily.

“No,” I growl, causing Dr. Ross to freeze in his tracks with a mildly panicked look on his face. “Please, stay. Witness the glorious savior and his ungrateful…person he saved.” I frown. “What’s the word for that? Savee?”

“Um,” Dr. Ross says helpfully.

“I haven’t _enjoyed_ this, Frank,” Gerard grits out, visibly trying to stay calm. “And, no, I didn’t do any interviews. I don’t want credit for what I did—I _know_ I don’t deserve it. But please, _please_ , can’t you just understand that I’m _trying_?”

I bark out a humorless laugh, solely for dramatic effect. “Well,” I spit out, but I don’t actually have a retort so I just shake my head.

“Dear lord, again?” Jamia walks into the room, unbothered by the animosity, with her near-empty smoothie cup in hand. Dr. Ross moves aside for her. “Hi, I’m Jamia,” she introduces herself to him, and holds out her hand. Dr. Ross takes it with a relieved smile. “Dr. Ross,” he replies. “I was actually just leaving.”

Jamia snorts. “Sorry about them,” she says with a smirk. “Did no one warn you?”

I throw an affronted look at Jamia before resuming my glare session with Gerard.

Dr. Ross laughs nervously. “The nursing staff are probably having a laugh about it right now.”

“Well, I don’t blame you for wanting to escape,” she says with a giggle, and both Gerard and I give her weird looks. “I might come with you, if you don’t mind.” She smiles charmingly. Gerard shakes his head in disbelief.

Dr. Ross grins, more confident than before. “Not at all,” he says, and gestures for her to go first. Jamia beams, and flounces out of the room, followed by Dr. Ross who gives us both an awkward nod.

“He’s too old for her,” Gerard says once they’re gone.

“He’s not even that cute,” I agree, staring after them.

“Well, he is, a little,” Gerard allows.

I turn to stare at him with raised eyebrows. “You think he’s _cute_?”

Gerard shrugs. “You don’t?”

“No!” I cry. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t say so in front of _you_.”

Gerard frowns like I’ve insulted him. “Why not?” he asks in a hurt voice.

“Because,” I say, trying to recall my reasoning, “I just—wouldn’t.” Gerard tilts his head like a confused puppy. Like a damn puppy. Like a stupid, adorable—

“I think _you’re_ cuter,” Gerard says suddenly, “than him.”

I gape at him.

“I mean,” Gerard goes on casually, “if that’s what was bothering you. You’re way cuter. Like, cuter than most. And I’m including animals. Like fluffy bunnies. Cuter than them even.” He’s starting to get awkward and he knows it, so he stops rambling. I’m still gaping, which seems to alarm him a bit because he adds, “Not to shock you or anything.”

I close my mouth when I hear the buzzing of a fly nearby.

Gerard smiles a small smile, probably because I’ve forgotten to glare at him for the past few minutes. “I’m gonna go make sure Jamia doesn’t seduce that much older doctor,” he tells me cheekily, “because he’s probably a nice guy and it wouldn’t be fair to him if Jamia winds up breaking his heart.” He starts to leave the room. “I’ll see you later, Frank,” he adds hopefully, almost questioningly.

Then he’s gone.

“What,” I say to no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter because I'm sorry for the wait. I hope you liked it! (I'm really tired which is why it's so sarcastic). Please comment because I love you :)  
> Hmm, I'm hungry


	12. The Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gerard's POV

“Dr. Ross is twenty-six years old and he has a dog,” Jamia informs them stubbornly. “He’s not too old for me.”

Gerard and Frank exchange uncomfortable looks. Frank looks away from him quickly, but Gerard lets his gaze linger a bit longer. He shifts his weight, leaning against the wall.

“What kind of dog?” Frank interrogates swiftly.

“A chocolate lab,” she shoots back. “Named Henry III.”

“What, like the king?” Gerard asks in surprise. “What did he do?”

“Not much,” she says. “Stopped some rebellions.”

Gerard frowns. “So why name the dog—?”

“I don’t think he’s named after the king. I think Alex just thought the name was cute,” she defends.

“Henry III is cute?” Gerard questions but Frank seems to pick up on the key word.

“Alex?” he queries, and Jamia blushes slightly. “Alex Ross?”

“That’s his name,” she confirms, trying to sound non-plussed.

“You’re on a first-name basis already?” Gerard cuts in.

“Hey,” Jamia says, jumping up angrily. “You’re not my parents. You don’t get to decide who I spend my time with, okay? I mean,” she scoffs, “look at you two! You dare give me relationship advice when the sexual tension between you is so thick I can barely breathe in here? Just make out already! It’s gonna happen eventually, so just save us all the angst, please!”

Gerard swallows, his throat suddenly dry. Jamia rolls her eyes for good measure and picks up her coat from the back of her chair. “I’m going to ask _Alex_ if he wants to get coffee when his shift ends,” she tells them curtly, and then she stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Gerard resolves to keep his eyes the door, knowing better than to look at Frank. However, his eyes are traitors and they automatically slide over to meet Frank’s startled gaze. Frank looks away first.

“Well,” he coughs, saying nothing else.

The floor becomes extremely interesting. Off-white tiles speckled with green and purple flecks. Probably to disguise dirt. It’s rather clever, unless someone’s trying to clean.

“Well,” Frank repeats with an obviously forced enthusiasm, “did you know, mangoes are really good for you. You should eat one every day, apparently.”

Gerard looks up at Frank, perplexed. How did mangoes come up? Is he hungry? “I can go get you a mango, if you want?” Gerard offers, straightening up, grateful for the excuse to leave.

“No, no,” Frank protests hastily, “I hate mangoes.”

With his only excuse to leave gone, Gerard leans back against the wall nervously.

“I was just sharing a fact,” Frank explains hurriedly.

Gerard nods and says, “Oh.”

The silence is so long and awful that Gerard can’t take it. “Well,” he announces at last, “I’d better get going—”

“Wait,” Frank says, and Gerard looks up to find Frank staring steadily at him. Gerard swallows uneasily. “You don’t have to leave,” he suggests, and gestures at the seat Jamia vacated. Because Gerard can’t deny Frank anything, he sits. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you,” Frank mutters, to Gerard’s complete shock. “You’ve obviously changed a lot. It’s about time I started to forgive you.”

Gerard is flabbergasted. Frank would never forgive him, right? This must be some sort of trick.

Frank crooks his finger, beckoning Gerard closer. Gerard leans forward with bated breath. Frank leans in the rest of the way, his lips coming to brush at the shell of Gerard’s left ear. “I think you’re cute too,” he whispers, his hot breath making Gerard shiver all the way down his spine. Frank’s lips curl into a smirk against his ear and Gerard has to pull away before he does something completely stupid like kiss the smirk off Frank’s face.

Gerard resumes staring at the tiled floor, forcing himself to wonder if it was always off-white or if it just yellowed with age, before Frank speaks up again. “So apparently I have legs,” he announces in annoyance and Gerard can’t help but bark out a laugh as he meets Frank’s eyes again.

“Is that so?” Gerard replies, grinning.

Frank smiles unintentionally. “It is. And being in a coma for half a year really eats away at your muscles, as we discovered yesterday morning.”

“That was this morning, actually,” Gerard corrects, glancing at the darkening sunlight outside the window.

“Was it?” Frank asks. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

Gerard knows he’s right, because he doesn’t have anywhere to go home to. He was trying not to think about his dad, but it kept creeping into his thoughts all day. Where will he go? Where can he sleep? He didn’t want to tell Jamia, because she would feel obligated to offer him her couch, and Gerard knows there is barely enough space in her apartment for her mother and herself. Over the past six months, Gerard had alienated himself from the other bullies at his school, all the people that used to be his friends. All he has now are Jamia and Frank. And he’s happy with having just them, but it does pose a problem. So far, the only place he can think of staying is the hospital. At least the nurses are used to him staying overnight in Frank’s room. But Frank might not be agreeable to that.

“Anyway,” Frank goes on, oblivious to Gerard’s stormy thoughts, “Dr. Ross said I can start rebuilding my leg strength. I have to go down to the rehabilitation room or whatever. So maybe, if you could take me there? That would be helpful.” Frank looks at him hopefully.

Gerard is nodding before he even processes the question. “Take you to—yeah, sure, I’ll just—go get a wheelchair—you do need a wheelchair, right?” Gerard stutters eloquently.

“Or you could just carry me,” Frank suggests innocently.

Gerard feels himself blushing, but decides he’s not letting Frank get the upper hand this time. “Okay,” he agrees immediately, and swoops down to pick Frank up bridal style.

“What?” Frank panics, flailing as Gerard scoops him from the bed.

“Where to?” Gerard questions, turning towards the door with a sheet still trailing behind them.

“Wait,” Frank squeaks, clinging onto Gerard’s shirt. Gerard halts and looks down at Frank expectantly. Frank is silent for moment until, to Gerard’s complete and utter shock, he bursts out into giggles. “Fine,” he challenges, grinning up at Gerard, “see if you can carry me there. I’d love to see the nurses’ faces.”

Gerard grins back, extremely self-satisfied to have made Frank laugh, and proceeds to carry him all the way down to the rehabilitation room on the first floor. Every nurse they pass does a double take, some shaking their heads, others grinning at them.

By the time they reach their destination, Gerard is a little worn out from carrying Frank so far, which Frank immediately picks up on. “Am I too fat for you?” he asks in amusement.

“Not at all,” Gerard grunts back. “You’re practically emaciated.”

“So you’re just weak, then,” Frank concludes.

Gerard huffs, declining to set Frank down so that he can prove his superior strength. “I’m very strong,” he mutters sullenly.

Frank laughs cheerfully. “Oh, relax,” he chortles, “I’m the one who needs the exercise, not you.”

Gerard carefully sets Frank down on a bench, though rather reluctantly. Then he pauses, uncertain. “Should I…leave you to it, then?”

Frank looks up at him through his lashes unreadably. “I’m sure you have places to be,” he dismisses.

“Yeah, totally,” Gerard lies, and he turns to go as a physical therapist walks up to Frank. He doesn’t have work tonight. He definitely doesn’t have a home anymore. Where can he possibly go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait! School was crazy busy. But I'll try to make it up to you over the break. Enjoy!


	13. The Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's POV

My first physical therapy session is rough, and by the time I’m done my muscles feel like overcooked noodles. I’m half-hoping to look up and see Gerard there waiting for me, but he’d had better things to do than be my personal assistant 24/7. One of the nurses is nice enough to wheel me back to my room, but she keeps trying to hold a conversation and I’m not up for it. I try to nod and smile every time she pauses in whatever she’s prattling on about, but I’m honestly so exhausted, I don’t think I’m very convincing. When we reach my room, I tell her I don’t need anymore assistance and she smiles warmly before bidding me a good night. I feel slightly bad for ignoring her.

My only goal right now is to get into bed and pass out immediately, but when I roll into my room it’s apparent that that won’t be happening. Someone is laying on my bed, fast asleep. I almost leave to get the nurse, but at that moment the person turns in their sleep and I realize it’s Gerard. I feel a flash of annoyance — I just want to sleep — but that quickly dissolves as I look at Gerard’s sleeping face.

His mouth is slack and a little drool seeps from one corner, which should be gross but I swear anything is cute on that face. For the first time today I notice the dark circles underneath his eyes. Has he not been sleeping? I roll my wheelchair closer, until I’m right next to the bed.

His eyelashes are so long. And his cheekbones, my god. I don’t think I’ve seen his face this peaceful in my life. At school he was always snarling in my face or looking miserable in class. And nowadays I guess I’m stressing him out a ton. I’m not sure if I’m sorry about that.

Gerard’s eyebrows scrunch together in his sleep. I want to smooth them out with my fingers, but I don’t think I can touch him. It feels like an immeasurable distance between us instead of just a few feet. I think if I try I might just reach forever.

He whimpers briefly, quietly, and that’s when I realize he’s having a nightmare. His mouth twists down in fear, and his breathing goes from steady to panicked. As if that’s some sort of permission, I finally reach out and touch his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to notice, still whimpering and shifting in the bed.

“Gerard,” I say. It’s loud in the small room.

His eyes snap open like he expects the bogeyman to be in front of his face.

“Gerard,” I repeat. “Hey, it’s okay. Just a dream.”

He looks over at me, still breathing fast. “Frank?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He looks confused for a few seconds before he sits up, startled. My hand falls from his shoulder. “Oh god, I’m so sorry,” he babbles, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I just was waiting, and I must have drifted off….” He turns his head as he tries to scramble off the bed and I see the other side of his face.

“Gerard,” I say sharply, and he freezes, looking at me like he’s afraid I’ll start yelling. I try to soften my tone as I say, “What happened to your face?”

He frowns in confusion for a moment, before his hand flies to the light bruise on his jaw. “Nothing, nothing, I just—fell—”

“Really?” I challenge him. “You expect me to believe that? That’s exactly what I used to say to my mom when I came home from school.” I neglect to mention his part in that, but he flinches anyway.

“Frank, I’m sorry—”

“No,” I interrupt, “shut up, this isn’t about me. Who the fuck did that to you?”

Gerard sighs, not meeting my eyes, and I can feel a burning sensation start up in my chest. I think it’s hatred. “It’s not important.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask.

Gerard looks at me, his eyes pleading. “Drop it, Frank,” he whispers.

I glare at him. “Who,” I demand.

Our staring match lasts only a few seconds before Gerard looks down at his lap miserably. “If I tell you,” he ventures, “will you promise not to tell anyone else?”

I roll my eyes. “Who am I going to tell? My mom? Jamia? The nurses?”

Gerard looks back up at me pleadingly, as if that was exactly who he didn’t want me to tell.

“Okay fine, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

Gerard searches my eyes for a moment, then, seeming satisfied, he looks back down at his hands. “My…dad doesn’t like me being here.”

I bite my lip hard so I don’t say something stupid like ‘Well I don’t like you being here either’. (Besides that’s not technically true, is it?) It is, it is — I feel like I could strangle him.

“He doesn’t…” Gerard trails off, clenching his jaw. He takes a deep breath and looks at me. “You know how I always called you names at school? Like, really bad ones?”

I raise my eyebrows. “How could I forget.” The hatred tightens in my chest.

He drops his eyes at that. “Well…it was all stuff my dad would say to me. He never wanted me to do anything…girly. He caught me playing with dolls once, as a kid. He yelled at me for half an hour, calling me a faggot loser.”

My jaw clenches. Does he thinks that’s an excuse? (I’m not really mad, am I?) The hatred inside me burns hotter.

“I never came out to him, but…I think he always knew. He always hated me.”

“He hit you?” I ask through my teeth, because I’m too furious to say anything else. I feel like hitting him myself. (But I don’t, I would never.)

Gerard shrugs like it can’t be helped. “I wouldn’t stop coming to see you.”

Hatred does strange things to you. Like pool in your stomach and make your legs feel like butter. I’m so enraged I could go outside and beat up anyone that got in my way, like a piñata. “Don’t go back there,” I growl. I don’t know what I’m saying. (Yes I do.)

Gerard glances up at me; he almost looks guilty. (Guilty has never looked so delicious.) “He kind of kicked me out, so…I don’t really have anywhere to go.”

“Stay,” I say, and I don’t remember consciously forming the word but it feels right. The hatred is still bubbling up in me.

Gerard stares at me for a long time, not saying anything. Then he smiles a little, this small crooked smile that I can’t get enough of, and says, “Thank you.” He seems to put his whole being into the word.

Sometimes when you’re super angry, you black out for a second. I think that must’ve happened to me then, because I don’t remember pulling Gerard by his shirt collar toward me, and I don’t remember crashing my lips against his, and I don’t remember how I got the most beautiful boy in the world to straddle my lap as we make out. Hatred does strange things to you — but I don’t think this is hate at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, doing my best. I can promise I won't abandon this story, but updates are few and far between. Thanks for the all the support!


	14. The Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Woman's POV

_Sometimes, when we're good, they allow us to watch TV. It’s Sofie’s turn to choose the channel, so she flicks through them, looking for something that interests her. There’s some reality TV, a cooking show, some syfy channel trash. It isn’t until the news channel pops up that I see something that catches my eye._

_“Wait,” I say, “Go back.”_

_Because Sofie is nice, she does, though I’m not so stupid as to think she won’t change the channel in the next few seconds. Seconds are all I need to recognize the teenage boy I tried to kill half a year ago. I almost don’t realize why his face is familiar for a moment, but then I recall quickened breathing and a voice hissing “He’s behind you.”_

_If I had only listened, I would have succeeded._

_Instead, I’m in here, and he’s out there, alive. I’ll be here till I die. A life for a life. A life sentence, and I didn’t even kill him. I tried, though, and that’s enough. Not many are sympathetic when it comes to psychopaths._

_My lawyer tried to convince me to take the insanity defense. I wouldn’t. I’m not insane, I just don’t care. Emotions make people insane. I’m as sane as can be._

_On the news, the boy I tried to murder is speaking to an interviewer, another boy beside him. This one is also familiar. He testified in court against me. He tackled me, knocking my knife to the ground. He saved the other boy, from me._

_“I’m gonna make a full recovery, the doctors say,” the boy is saying, leaning heavily against the other, taller one, who holds his waist protectively. He’s looking at the hurt boy like he is his entire world. It’s an expression that I recognize as one of love, though I’ve never seen it in person before. It’s like something from a romantic comedy, an idealized version of love that I never thought actually existed._

_“Tell us more about your new relationship,” the interviewer requests, holding the microphone to their faces. The two boys smile shyly at each other. Something in my chest stirs._

_“Gerard saved my life,” the one boy says, not taking his eyes from his boyfriend. “I couldn’t ask for anyone better.”_

_Gerard presses his lips to the other's temple. “Frank is the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” he says earnestly. “I’ve had a crush on him for years. Though I didn’t always express myself in the best way.” The last comment is sheepish, bordering on guilty, but the other boy, Frank, nudges his arm playfully and the expression turns to one of joy._

_“I don’t know why this happened to me," Frank continues seriously, turning back to the camera. It feels like he’s staring right at me. I’m not sure if I would mind if he could see me. “And I’m not grateful for it. But it did, unintentionally, bring me and Gerard together.” He smiles softly; I think he must know I’m watching. “And that’s something I won’t ever regret.”_

_The interviewer smiles indulgently at them. “You’re both very brave,” he tells them, “and we’re all very glad you’re doing so well. How about a kiss for the camera?”_

_Frank blushes, and Gerard’s smile stiffens on his face, but surprisingly it’s Frank who turns and pulls Gerard down for a kiss. It’s short and chaste, but the moment their lips touch, I feel a corresponding twinge in my heart. Around me, a few of the women let out soft sighs. The onscreen lovers draw apart, blushing furiously, and turn to give the camera sheepish smiles._

_That thing in my chest twinges again._

_“Well, that’s all we have time for today,” the interviewer says cheerfully into the camera, “Back to you, Carrie.”_

_As the news switches over to the anchors, who start commenting on the heartwarming couple, Sofie changes the channel and I don’t protest. It isn’t my turn anyway._

_I press my hand to my heart, willing it to twinge again. It doesn’t, but I know what I felt._

_A tugging on my heartstrings._

_I’m not a psychopath after all._

_“Christa, you have a visitor,” a voice says, and I turn to see one of the friendlier guards standing in the doorway._

_I stand and walk over to her. “Who is it?” I ask. No one has visited me since I got in here. I haven’t heard from anyone since my arrest._

_“Some guy, says his name is Ray Toro,” she replies, sounding bored._

_I don't know why or how, but something about seeing that boy on TV must have opened me up to feeling things, because there’s suddenly a warmth in my heart that I’ve never felt before._

_“Ray’s here?” I ask, not loud enough for her to hear. A smile finds its way onto my face, though I don’t mean to put it there._

_And when we reach the visiting room, there he is, frizzy hair and all. He looks up at me, and smiles._

_I’ve never been so relieved to be so wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the support! I hope the wait was worth it, though I do apologize for that ;)


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